Crayons
by amandajbruce
Summary: The story of the 64 pack with the sharpener, and why Lilly told Miley the story at all.


Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever owned Hannah Montana or any related entities. The story is not for profit and is not meant to infringe on any copyright.

"I don't wanna go. I wanna stay at home." The tiny four year old with just as tiny blond plaits looked up at her mother hopefully, holding tighter onto the hand she hoped would be her salvation.

" I know, but everyone has to start school. And next year, when you go to kindergarten, you'll already have all of the friends you made here." Mrs. Truscott knelt, kissed her daughter on the top of the head, and gently pulled her into the preschool classroom with an air of finality that, even at four, Lilly knew better than to argue.

After her mother left with a promise to pick her up at the end of the day, Lilly found herself seated at a small table with four chairs. She was given a stack of paper and box of eight crayons to occupy her until other children arrived. As the other tables filled around her, Lilly took the purple crayon out of the box and began to draw a picture. Although it was mainly scribbles and lots of odd shapes, in her mind, it was the beach near her house on a perfect day with lots of waves and seagulls flying in the sky. She tried to explain the picture to the two girls who were told to sit at her table, Amber and Ashley, but they just giggled and said it looked like spaghetti, and that it was the wrong color. Lilly immediately decided she would never be friends with people who could not tell the difference between waves at the beach and a plate of pasta. She pinched both of their arms, and had to spend the next ten minutes in the corner of the room thinking about why it was not nice to pinch other little girls.

Because of the experience she had in her first twenty minutes of preschool, Lilly held very low hopes for the rest of the day, even going as far as deciding she was not going to try to make friends, but would just wait for others to befriend her. Because of this, she did not so much as glance up when the last student was seated at her table, a little boy with brown hair and his own backpack full of school supplies. His mother had wanted him to be prepared, stuffing his bag with a spare change of clothes, his lunch, and his very own box of crayons. The Truscotts had simply sent Lilly off with her lunch and lectures on good behavior. She never noticed the way he stared at her picture or, for that matter, the way he stared at her when she sat back down.

That first day of school, the class learned the first letter of the alphabet (A is for apples and alligators and names like Amber and Ashley) and were given worksheets to color in examples of that very same letter. They also learned a song, were read a story, had naptime, and were then given "free" time.

Lilly remained seated at her table while the other boys and girls began building with blocks and dragging dolls out of hiding places, taking the time to draw another picture, this time using the blue crayon instead of the purple. She was very intent on her drawing, this time focusing on what she imagined was under the water instead of on the beach, and she almost did not notice that the little boy with the brown hair was still sitting next to her. She took notice though when he pulled out his own box of crayons.

Her blue eyes widened when he opened the box; he had so many different kinds of blue in his, not just the one she had! "How come you have so many crayons in your box?" It was the most she had said all day since the incident this morning.

"My mom bought me the big box. She said it was so I could use _all_ the colors." He took out a bright red crayon, made sure it was sharp enough, then began to carefully draw a long curved line on his own paper. "My name's Oliver. What's your's?"

"Lilly." She continued to watch his fingers move across his paper, mesmerized, her eyes growing wider with each color he chose from the box. "Could I use your crayons?"

"I dunno. I don't want to lose any."

"I'll be really careful."

"I dunno. You pinched those other girls. I heard them talking."

"That's because they were mean. I won't pinch you if you're nice." She hesitated a minute. "What are you drawing?"

"A surfboard. It's what I want mine to look like. My mom said that when I get bigger she's going to talk my dad into teaching me."

"Neat! I want to learn too. I love the beach."

He appeared to think about it for a few minutes. Finally, sighing, he pushed the box a little closer to her. "Okay, if you promise to hold my hand all during lunch, you can use my crayons for the whole year."

"All I have to do is hold your hand for lunch, and I can use all of those? Deal."

Of course, at lunch he added her fruitcup to his list of demands, and during their time on the playground he also said she had to play catch with him, and by the end of that week, she was his partner in virtually every activity.

Seven years later it was a partnership that still relied on a little bribery once in a while for one of them to get what they wanted, but they understood one another better than anyone else. And it was seven years later that Lilly Truscott was attempting to explain to one of her newest friends, Miley Stewart, just why they should hang out with Oliver "Smokin" Oken.

"He let you use his crayons, huh? That's the reason you're friends with him?" After listening to the whole story, Miley's eyebrows were still raised in disbelief.

"Miley! I told you! It was the 64-count box _with the sharpener._ He's really not that bad. He's a lot of fun and he's funny. But, don't tell him I said I think he's funny, it'll just go to his head." Lilly and Miley glanced across the room to where Oliver was buying his lunch. After exiting the line, he promptly tripped over Amber's outstretched leg and lost half of his spaghetti on his t-shirt.

"Alright, I'll try to be friends with him for you. But I know he's the one who told everyone I ate possum… which never happened."

Lilly's eyes lit up at Miley's words. "Great! We'll all be best friends, you'll see. And the possum thing… sometimes Oliver says things without thinking, so just don't tell him any major secrets and you'll be fine." She waved Oliver over to the empty seat next to her and he sat down with a thud.

"No big secrets, got it."

"Hello ladies. Smokin Oken has arrived." He grinned, nodding his head in Miley's direction.

"Oliver, no one else calls you that. You should just give it up."

"Lilly, everyone calls me that. I'm irresistible."

"I thought Lilly called you that cause once you caught your pants on fire at a barbecue." Oliver glared at Miley. "Hey, that's just what I heard. Of course, I also heard I eat possum, and I know that's not true."

"Yeah, well, just a rumor, right… he he?" Oliver began to look a little nervous.

"Alright, he doesn't mention the possum ever again, you don't mention the pants, and everyone's

happy?" Lilly sounded a little exasperated. "Besides, we have art after lunch, what do you think we're going to be doing?" Lilly and Miley began debating the finer points of drawing using pastels or colored pencils.

Oliver, his mouth full of spaghetti, put in, "I've always preferred crayons. They're just so classic." Miley and Lilly giggled. "What? Something wrong with crayons?"


End file.
